


Definitions

by annagarny



Series: New York State of Mind [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-23
Updated: 2012-02-23
Packaged: 2017-10-31 15:14:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/345578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annagarny/pseuds/annagarny





	Definitions

"So, um. Um." Clint was muttering and Phil was confused. It wasn't like it was an unusual situation, except for the fact that they had, you know, been making out a few  hours earlier.

"Um, what?" Phil asked, dropping down onto the edge of the bed with a sigh. The painkillers that Dr Greene had given him were just beginning to kick in - if he timed it right he'd be able to take a shower (or at least sponge himself off so that he felt less grimy) and then take a nap before facing the rest of the day. He was only half-listening to Clint, thinking about the likely logistics of showering without getting his bandages wet, but then Clint started to talk properly, so Phil paid attention.

"What exactly is going on... with us?" Clint asked.

Phil was kind of thrown for a moment - not ten minutes earlier, down in the infirmary, Clint had said in as many words that he was Phil's 'man'. Not that Phil was entirely certain what that title would entail, but it was something that he liked the sound of.

"What do you mean, going on?"

"I mean, do you want to keep on, you know..." Clint couldn't actually say the words, and his cheeks were beginning to heat up. After a few awkward seconds, Phil took pity on him. As per usual, it fell to him to be the responsible adult in the room. It didn't really bother him, much, it was something that he'd been doing since childhood - the perils of being the eldest of four boys were many, varied and a large part of the reason that he had joined the armed forces in the first place.

"I'd like to keep sleeping in the same bed as you, if that's what you mean. And you're an amazing kisser."

"You are, too." Clint told him, a little shyly.

"Considering that about an hour ago you were telling me that you're planning to move into my place in New York by either stealth or force, I'd have thought you'd be more than okay with the arrangement."

Clint was still blushing, and it seemed to deepen at that comment.

"Well, I dunno, I think I was half talking out my ass, then-"

"I know for a fact that you're at your most honest when nobody can look you in the eye - we've had some of our best conversations with three miles between us."

"Yeah, I know."

"So, sit down, lie down, stare at the ceiling. Do whatever you have to do to make yourself feel okay about this, if you really want to talk about it.”

Clint sighed again, but followed Phil's suggestion and flopped down on the bed next to his handler, sprawling on the sheets for a moment before suddenly sitting back up, running his hands over the rumpled linen with a look akin to panic on his face.

 

"What are you doing?" Phil asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Looking."

"For what?"

"You know, stuff. We slept together last night, didn't we? I don't want to sprawl out and then find... that... in my hair later on today."

Phil stared at him for a long moment before cracking up laughing, much to Clint's chagrin. He was bent almost double, his forehead resting on one knee, laughing hard enough to make his stomach hurt. When he finally caught his breath he looked over at Clint again, who by this time had gone from embarrassed to incredulous to murderous and had turned a very interesting shade of blotchy purple, his blush of embarrassment not dissipated entirely before frustration had filled in the gaps.

"Greene was right, you really do need to get some sleep!" Phil managed to get out between chuckles.

Clint's expression slowly cleared, but he was still confused.

"But, we were both naked when we woke up, and my back is killing me, I just assumed-"

"Yeah, exactly. Your back is aching, because you had to half-carry me through most of the house to get me back up here, but before that you were kneeling on the floor between my legs, stretched up so that you could reach me where I was sitting on the couch. Check your trash - no condoms. We just made out last night."

"Really?"

"Really. You think I'd expect you to put out on the first date?"

"I usually do." Clint told him, and Phil dissolved into guffaws again, leaning back this time, and Clint narrowed his eyes at him, before his gaze drifted down Phil's torso to the exposed strip of flesh between the t-shirt and his sweat pants.

An evil idea sparked in his brain, and before it had fully formed, he pounced.

Phil yelped as he was suddenly straddled by a determined Hawkeye, the archers’ jaw set in a hard line, but his eyes sparkling with something Phil definitely wanted to see more of.

“In fact, I’d say we’re still in first-date timeframe – if we call three AM a starting point, then we’re five and a half hours in.”  
  
“How the hell long do your dates usually last, Barton?”

“Well, my most recent ‘first date’ was a whole weekend, Friday to Monday. Before that it was a day and a half of a road trip between Chicago and New York, before that it was just on twenty-four hours in a hotel in Vegas. If my math is right, our first date should take us about a week.”

Before Phil could formulate any kind of response, he was silenced by his ‘man’ pressing their lips together, hands on his shoulders, leaning down so that they were touching from hips to collarbones.

“Just so you know, Phil, I always put out on the first date. I have no intention of breaking my streak.” He muttered against Phil’s neck, dragging his lips across Phil’s jaw, their stubble catching and rasping as their faces pressed together – neither had shaved since the morning before.

“Oh, really? And how many guys have you put out for?” Phil asked, trying to distract himself from just how good Clint’s mouth felt against his neck.

“We’re really talking numbers, right now, when I have my-” Clint grunted and twisted himself to lift his hip a little, sliding his hand between their bodies “-when I have my hand down your pants?”

“Hey, it’d be nice to know just how green you are before we do anything you might not be comfortable with.”

“What about you, Phil? How many guys have you put out for?” Clint asked, deflecting as always.

“Five. And seven women.” Phil told him, without a hint of shame or hesitation.

Clint drew back, his fingertips still caught in the springy curls just below the waistband of Phil’s pants, one eyebrow drawn up as he looked Phil right in the eye.

“Five guys.”

“And seven women.”

“Huh. Well, hang on. Define putting out? I mean, with chicks it’s pretty easy, you know, plumbing and all… but with another guy, how do you-”

Phil cut him off before the conversation descended any further into awkward territory.

“You want to know if I’m a top or a bottom? Because it doesn’t always work like that. I mean, with Alexander it was kind of whoever felt up for it, but with Jason it was never even an option-”

“Okay, okay, we don’t need to go through a list of your old boyfriends.” Clint interrupted, and Phil shut up obligingly, allowing Clint a few moments to think it over.

“Okay, okay. I’ve been blown by another guy a couple of times, and there was this one time in college where I lost a bet and had to give another guy a handy… so four guys, total, I guess. Oh, and Fury's assistant, but you know about that, already.”

“Right. Women?” Phil asked, and Clint paused for a moment before giving his answer.

“About thirty, maybe thirty five, I was kind of a when when I was with the circus – there were always townies who’d come out to the caravans, you know, on a dare, or whatever, and want to make out with a carnie.”

“You don’t have to defend your past, Clint, I have read your file. Besides, I spent most of my twenties in serious relationships, I had a girlfriend all through college and I came to within about a whisper of getting married just before my first deployment.”

“Huh.” Clint was learning all kinds of things this morning, and he glanced at Phil’s left hand kind of absently, as if he expected a gold band to have materialised there, now that Phil had told him about his past.

“Her sister talked her out of it, and when I came back she broke up with me, she’d been sleeping with her neighbour while I was away. So I went back, twice, and kind of switched to men when I was about thirty.”

“How did that even work? I mean, don’t ask, don’t tell was only repealed so recently-”

“It was only after I left the Marines that I started to date guys, and the Marines is an entire world in and of itself, not a lot of the rules of the real world apply there.”

The whole time they were talking, Clint was still straddling Phil, leaning over him, one hand low on Phil’s stomach while he rested his weight on his other elbow.

“Sounds like it would have helped prepare you for this place.”

“There is something of a similarity about it.” Phil’s mouth quirked, thinking about what some of the guys in his unit would say if they found out that he’d become something of a glorified babysitter for the Avengers Initiative. There was a good reason Phil wore non-descript suits and large sunglasses, if he was ever spotted in the background of any photos he was just another man-in-black, even if that ‘black’ suit was actually dark grey, or navy blue.

Clint ducked his head and in the same moment Phil lifted himself from the mattress, they met halfway, the kiss was short, chaste and simple, but it seemed to convey a lot more than affection. With that one simple action they seemed to communicate a hundred thousand words, as Phil reclined back onto the tangled white sheets and Clint lowered his weight to his knees, drawing back, they were both smiling.

“I think we’ll be okay.” Clint murmured, his usually cocky grin somewhat muted, his eyes softer and fewer teeth visible.

“Yeah, I think we will.”

Clint pressed down again, dropping his hand lower and ghosting his fingers over the heat in Phil’s pants, his other hand sliding up Phil’s arm to his shoulder, fingers under the sleeve of the t-shirt as their mouths met once more, suddenly hard and wanting. It seemed that once the formalities had been dealt with they were equally determined to forget that they were even necessary.

Unfortunately, Phil’s brain wouldn’t shut off quite that quickly, even with Clint’s callused hand slowly stroking his cock, teasing him into full arousal in a lot less time than it took Phil to achieve it when he was alone.

“How- oh dear God you should not be so good at that – how long has it been since you last-” he stopped mid-sentence as Clint flicked his thumb over the head of his erection, sliding Phil’s foreskin back to expose the most sensitive part.

“About four months, and I’ve had two medicals since then… so if you’re trying to ask if I’m clean, the answer is yes. What about you?” Clint murmured his answer and question with his lips pressed to Phil’s ear, his chest rumbling against Phil’s shoulder, and Phil was struggling to form coherent thoughts. Complete sentences were totally beyond his current capabilities, single syllables would have to do.

“Two years… six months… and a week. Clean. Oh yes… do that again…” his voice faded to a moan as he tipped his head back, Clint was doing something that Phil couldn’t quite describe but it involved talented fingers and an aching erection, not to mention Clint’s hardness that was pressing into Phil’s thigh, a few inches away from where Clint was stroking Phil towards oblivion with such determination it was almost sinful.

“I should probably give you a break, then…” Clint’s mouth was still at Phil’s neck, his breath hot against Phil’s ear, and Phil felt the archer grin at the keening noise, completely involuntary, that came from Phil’s throat as Clint loosened his grip and withdrew his hand, Phil’s hips bucking up as he arched his back, trying to maintain the contact as long as possible.

“Oh, you utter bastard.” Phil growled, and before Clint could stop him, he’d performed one of the ninja moves that had made him infamous at SHIELD and flipped Clint onto his back in the centre of the bed, shifted so that he had one knee between Clint’s legs and dropped his hands to the button fly of the jeans that Clint was, for some reason, still wearing.

“Too many clothes.” Phil muttered, and Clint nodded in agreement, reaching down and stripping his own t-shirt off, tossing it somewhere that wasn’t on the bed and then stretching his fingers to grab the hem of the shirt (Clint’s shirt, he noticed for the first time, and he smirked at that) Phil was wearing, tugging it up Phil’s body.

It took a few seconds of awkward manoeuvring but Clint got the black tee off of Phil and threw it in the same direction the red one had gone a few seconds ago, then hooked his thumbs through the hem of Phil’s sweatpants and shucked them down, before lifting his own hips as Phil pulled the now uncomfortably-tight jeans down Clint’s legs.

“Ah! Oh shit, ow! Dammit!” Clint stopped dead as Phil swore, then realised what had happened – trying to kick his sweatpants away from where they were tangled around his ankles, Phil had kicked out with his injured foot and caught the injury.

“No, no I’m okay, just, let me lie back down…” Phil muttered as Clint looked up, alarmed for a moment until he saw what was going on.

“How about you let me do all the work, while you’re injured? Dr Greene did say that you weren’t supposed to do anything strenuous…”

“That sounds like the best idea you’ve had this morning.” Phil grinned and allowed himself to sink into the mattress, reclining in much the same position he had been that morning when Clint had stolen the top sheet to waltz into the bathroom. This time, however, Clint was crawling up the bed towards him, a sly smile playing at his features while he slid his hands along Phil’s shins, catching his fingers in the coarse hair, then slid his fingers behind Phil’s knees, up his thighs, gripping tight.

Phil clenched his teeth so he wouldn’t moan out loud, his legs parting of their own accord as Clint advanced, his hands continuing up Phil’s body, barely touching his sides until they were pressed together from knee to shoulder, Clint kissing Phil’s neck where it was exposed, Phil arching into the touch. Clint ground his hips down and Phil did actually moan at that, feeling Clint’s length line up against his, the friction so beautiful and distracting that he didn’t notice Clint biting into his shoulder until his teeth hit one of his existing bruises and he drew a sharp breath of pleasure laced with pain.

“You’re very… bitey.” He managed to gasp out between Clint’s slow thrusts, trying his best to keep his brain engaged even as his higher functions seemed to be shutting down one-by-one.

“Apparently.”

“Just… keep it below the collar, okay. I don’t want to have to explain teeth marks to everyone.”

“Yes... Agent Coulson... sir.”

Damn. Now his higher functions didn’t stand a chance.


End file.
